


And You Ordered It

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Food Kink, M/M, Nantaimori, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8142281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: Luke and Han are taking a break during a political mission for the New Republic, but a miscommunication in a restaurant results in an awkward effort to avoid a diplomatic disaster.(And for "awkward," in this situation read "accidentally kinda hot.")





	

**Author's Note:**

> What this story features is not *actual* nantaimori; that's just the closest Earth-word I can come up with to describe the kink that happens in a restaurant in space.

The host greeted them in Vront, speaking too fast for Han’s perfunctory grasp of the language. Han responded by raising two fingers and saying, sheepishly, “Uh, for two?”

With a nod, the host said, in cordial Basic, “Ah, good, yes. The wait for a private booth is one hour, but we have tables ready at this time. Which would you prefer?”

Han turned to Luke, who shrugged and said, “Table’s fine.”

“Table’s fine,” Han repeated to the host, who promptly led them to the main dining area. Long tables, a few unoccupied, were scattered at various angles around the room. Each of the windowless walls was lined with curtained booths; all of the curtains were drawn closed. The patrons were mostly natives, Verodians, with a scattering of other races – no other humans, though. Both Luke and Han wondered if this meant they shouldn’t have chosen this restaurant, and they exchanged a meaningful look to this effect. But neither of them wanted to be the one to tell the host that they had changed their minds and wished to leave.

The host seated them near the center of the room. It seemed to Han that the table they were given was larger than they needed; though narrow, it was long enough that it could have easily seated six humanoids. He and Luke sat at one end, on opposite sides. The host handed them each a menu, which was entirely in Vront. Luke had no knowledge of the language, and looked to Han for help. Han puzzled out the menu items out loud to him.

“It looks like they divide their meals into three courses,” he said, running his fingers over three words in a larger font. “So you pick one of each of these.” He identified several of the items, or one or two of their components, at least.

“What about this?” Luke pointed out a whole paragraph on the facing page, separate from the lists of courses.

Han chewed his lip while identifying all the words he recognized. “This is a kind of fish…this is one of their ruminants, and this is a fruit…a fruit sauce…this word can mean either ‘leaf’ or ‘tax evasion,’ depending on the context. I’m assuming it means ‘leaf’ here. Huh. Well, between all this, and the price, I’m thinking this is their house specialty.” He put the menu down. “I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna order that.”

Luke frowned. “Are you sure? I mean, how expensive is it?”

Han made a dismissive gesture. “I told you not to worry about that. I’ve got a little money, and I want to spend it on a nice time. We’ve got nothing to do until the ambassador arrives, and this is the nicest place in this city.”

After a bit more guidance from Han about the items in the individual course lists, Luke decided on which ones he would point at when it was time to order. The waiter arrived and said, in Basic, “Are you ready here?”

“We are,” said Han, straightening up and clearing his throat, preparing to attempt to pronounce Vront. “I’ll have the ∆ ∙ ≈ └ ∆ ≈ ○, please, and—”

The waiter’s eyebrows, all three of them, went up. Han saw this and worried that he’d accidentally insulted someone’s ancestry. The waiter’s response, though it dispelled this fear, did not comfort Han at all: “It isn’t often,” the waiter said, “that someone orders the ∆ ∙ ≈ └ ∆ ≈ ○ who is at a table, and not in one of our private booths. But, that is perfectly alright. We happily serve the ∆ ∙ ≈ └ ∆ ≈ ○ at these tables.” Here he made a sweeping gesture, then leaned in and said, conspiratorially, “There is often a cascading effect, and other patrons will begin to order it in turn. But if nothing else, it certainly increases our alcohol sales.”

The waiter plucked the menus from the table and leered at a bewildered Han, then at Luke, as he turned and walked away.

“Um, that’s great,” Han sighed, “but he forgot to take your order.”

Luke was unruffled. “It’s fine. I’m sure he’ll be back once he realizes his mistake.”

They waited for quite a while, passing the time by sharing their thoughts on Verod, and possible obstacles to its admittance into the New Republic. Luke pointed out that in several regions they had visited, he’d gotten the impression that the dominant local culture would not be tolerant of Force-sensitive individuals. This wasn’t something that Han had been paying attention to; he’d been focusing on their prior political integration into the Empire, and their economic system, which he believed was more reliant on slave labor than the government was letting on. On these missions, he examined a planet’s cultures as they were, whereas Luke’s agenda, to rebuild the Jedi Order, compelled him to speculate on how a planet’s cultures _would_ be, if Force-sensitivity became more integral to the New Republic.

Their conversation was interrupted by a low, but rising, murmur from the other patrons, which began back near the kitchen but was quickly spreading across the room. Han’s hand instinctively went to his blaster, and Luke’s to his lightsaber, as they scanned the room to find the reason for the abrupt change in the atmosphere. What they discovered was that the reason was _them_. Their waiter was returning with a broad silver tray, carrying it high as he brought it to their table, and one by one, as their fellow diners recognized what it was, they became at once more hushed and more excited.

When the waiter arrived, he lowered the tray but did not place it on their table. The crowd grew restless, now that they knew who it was that had ordered the ∆ ∙ ≈ └ ∆ ≈ ○. All heads and eye-stalks were turned in Luke and Han’s direction, and from the din, a few encouraging hoots and hollers could now be discerned. The waiter looked at Luke expectantly, as if he were the person who had forgotten to do something important. Luke didn’t move, didn’t speak, until the waiter asked, in a deliberate, diplomatic tone, “Whenever you are ready?”

By now, the crowd was chanting, and Han listened carefully, picking out more and more words as they were repeated. He leaned over to Luke and said, “They’re telling you that you need to stop dawdling and take your clothes off.”

“Why would they say that?” Luke’s brow furrowed as he surveyed the crowd.

Han’s stomach dropped at his sudden realization about what he’d read on the menu. “I didn’t think I’d parsed it correctly,” he said. “The menu said…something like…‘served on a naked body.’” He buried his face in his hands. “I thought that must have meant it was preparation with some sort of minimalistic presentation. I didn’t think it could possibly be literal.”

Incredulous, Luke snapped, “You saw a menu item that said ‘served on a naked body,’ and you _ordered_ it? Why do people think _I’m_ the naïve, impulsive one?”

“Everything’s fine,” Han said, with an unconvincing wave of both hands. “We’ll just explain that there was a misunderstanding, we made a mistake, we’ll pay for it, and then we’ll get out of here.” He turned and spoke to the waiter, “Listen, there’s been a mis—”

He was interrupted by the sting of something hitting the back of his neck. Han swiveled around, and whoever had done it, did it again. The projectile hit him and fell to the ground; it was some kind of bean, or seed, from someone’s plate. Other patrons did the same, jeering at Han and Luke and pelting them with bits of food.

“If we don’t follow through with this,” Luke said, “it looks like we’ll have a riot on our hands.” He stood up, his hand going to the top fastener of his tunic.

“Kid, you don’t need to do that, I’ve got this under control,” Han said, ducking.

Luke unfastened his collar and opened it. The crowd immediately ceased their ranged attacks and began to cheer and chant once more. Luke pulled his tunic open and shrugged it off his shoulders, to much riotous gratitude from the other patrons. They began ordering each other to sit down, to give others a better view, and as Luke unhooked his lightsaber and slid off his belt, the clamoring got more intense. He handed his lightsaber to Han, who fastened it to his own belt for safekeeping. Egged on by the lascivious whistles and bellows of the crowd, Luke removed his boots, then his trousers, and finally stood naked before everyone’s eyes. Even some of the diners in the private booths, having opened their curtains to see what the ruckus was, were now watching raptly. Luke bore this stoically, standing straight-backed and expressionless for a moment before he boosted himself onto the table, then turned himself ninety degrees and laid flat upon it. The crowd quieted down and watched intently, scolding those who stood up or otherwise interrupted the show, which as far as they were concerned had now officially begun.

The waiter appeared relieved that at last he could continue with his job. He brought the tray low enough that Han could now see a delicately arranged assortment of meats, cheeses, and fruits, all sculpted into perfect, bite-sized medallions, some of them wrapped in lush, edible leaves. Each of these, the waiter plucked from the tray and placed precisely and symmetrically on Luke’s chest and abdomen. Han followed the path of each with his eyes, noticed how Luke’s belly quivered at the cold touch of the first piece. After that one, Luke steeled himself, and betrayed no further sign that he was affected by the proceedings. He stared at the ceiling, without a glance at Han or the crowd, who now only murmured to each other.

Underneath the aromas of seared meat and carved fruit, Han caught an unmistakable whiff of male musk; of course, Luke had not known that he would be in this predicament, and so had not washed since early that morning. Without even thinking of what he was doing, Han inhaled deeply, searching out Luke’s scent between the savory and citrus notes being laid out. Naturally, it rose mostly strongly from between his thighs, upon each of which the waiter was now placing two more medallions. Two more after that he arranged on the crests of Luke’s hipbones. Between those morsels, Luke’s penis lay, soft and delicate. Han looked at it while he pretended to be looking at the food. Above it, he couldn’t help but notice how soft and silky Luke’s pubic hair looked – Han was struck by the impulse to stroke it, to see if it felt as soft to the touch as it appeared. He resisted. Han had his feelings, but Luke had his Code, and Han respected that. He was not going to embarrass both of them by suddenly being unable to control himself.

When all the medallions had been placed on Luke’s body, the waiter shifted his attention to the tiny sauce bowls on the tray. He took the miniscule spoon from each one and drizzled each medallion with a sauce that complemented it. Some of these sauces, having been thus applied, dribbled down Luke’s sides, and one pooled in his navel, but if they tickled or irritated him, he did not so much as twitch to indicate it, lest he spoil the plating. Han did not even notice him breathing, the entire time he’d been on the table, until the sauces had all been spooned out. He figured Luke must have been using some of that Jedi discipline to control his reactions.

Luke was indeed slowing his breathing with a meditative technique, but when he reflexively turned his thoughts inward, he found that he didn’t truly feel the need to, or desire to. He decided he would prefer to remain fully aware of the meal as it proceeded – no sense in letting his guard down while he was in this situation. He focused on Han’s presence, his voice, stubbornly calm and cool in this bizarre predicament.

With a final flourish, the waiter placed a stone cup on the table, on Han’s left. Han picked it up, sniffed at it. It was room temperature and alcoholic, but nothing he recognized. Since he hadn’t asked for it, he assumed it was included specifically to enhance these particular foods.

The waiter encouraged Han to enjoy his meal, then turned and disappeared into the crowd, no doubt to take drink orders. Han looked around for utensils, found that there were none, and at this point was fairly sure that this was not merely absent-mindedness on the part of their waiter. He gazed down at the feast before him, trying to decide which of the medallions was placed the most innocuously. Luke muttered, “Just start. The sooner you do, the sooner this will be over.”

So Han chose a random one, pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, lifted it from Luke’s breastbone, and put it in his mouth. He knew at that moment that he was not going to be able to even pretend that the meal was unenjoyable. The first bite had a luscious texture; the meat just fell apart on his tongue. Han might not have had the most sophisticated palette, but he knew what he liked. After that, he decided that just because this meal was being presented in unexpected circumstances, that was no reason not to get his money’s worth, to savor every nuance of delicate flavor.

The crowd cheered his inaugural bite, but only that one. From then on, as he consumed each medallion, the crowd was less exuberant, though no less enraptured. The murmuring was mostly in Vront, though Han could discern other languages, and through the din he distinctly heard someone expressing appreciation for the “tender, succulent flesh,” though he could not be sure whether the person who said it was referring to the meal itself.

Han could have done without this audience and their insistence on gawping at Luke’s body, though at the same time he couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit smug – every being in the place envied Han, and they were right to. He felt sorry for Luke, though, who was so utterly exposed. Reaching out to Luke’s solar plexus for another serving, he suddenly swore he saw that soft cock twitch…But no, he must have been seeing things. Even if Luke was enjoying this in the slightest – which he couldn’t possibly, could he? – he had better control of himself than to let that happen.

Two medallions had been placed right up against each of Luke’s nipples, which were tight and hard in the cool air. They had been placed adjacent, rather than on top, presumably so that Han would be compelled to brush against them as he picked up the morsel of food. Not only did he do so as he lifted the first of the two, but he could not help but notice how the warm sauce dripped from the medallion right onto that tight pink bud.

He gazed at this droplet, and its destination, while he chewed. Every juicy bite was bursting with rich flavor, this one savory and smoky, that one rich and sweet. The sauces, by turns spicy and syrupy, enhanced each mouthful without being overwhelming. Then, when Han paused to take a drink, he found the liquor to be a refreshing balance to the meal, and not too strong.

Luke watched Han place the cup against his lips, watched his throat working around the liquid. Remaining perfectly still was taxing, and Luke was glad of his training, at this moment more than ever. His skin tingled and his muscles ached, but beneath it he felt a twinge of desire, watching Han eat and drink. He was sure it was only because he himself was hungry and thirsty. He concentrated on suppressing these urges. He was in no danger of starving; he needed only to be patient.

As Han continued, sampling some meat, some cheese, and some fruit by turns, the crowd settled further, distracted by their own meals and conversations. Han didn’t feel like he and Luke had been left in peace, not by a long shot, but he believed he could relax a little more now. The weird part was ongoing but, at last, the shocking part was over. Once in a while, he glanced at Luke’s face, hoping for some reassuring eye contact so he would know everything was alright, but Luke was always looking elsewhere, at the ceiling mostly, but occasionally down at himself, watching Han partake, one by one, of the medallions adorning his body, while their sauces lingered on his skin.

The table was digging hard into Luke’s shoulders and pelvis, and the temptation to wiggle was maddening. He knew that, if he cared to, he could cope by sinking more deeply into a trance-like state, but he wished to keep watching what Han was doing – just so he’d know how close they were to being done, he was sure. Two bites left, then one…

The waiter passed by their table on the way back to the kitchen, and Han waved to get his attention. “Hi, sorry, can we get a towel or something, please, so my friend can clean up before he gets dressed?”

Scrutinizing Luke, still smeared with sauces, the waiter replied, “But you haven’t finished yet.” He smiled. “I’ll come back when you have.”

Han watched with consternation as the waiter continued to the kitchen. He looked back at Luke, unsure why the waiter had seen him unburdened by any food and yet insisted that Han was not done. But a few overheard snatches of conversation nearby clued him in: the ∆ ∙ ≈ └ ∆ ≈ ○ was not over until all the sauce had been consumed, as well.

To accomplish this, Han reasoned, he had two options: lick the sauce directly from Luke’s body, or scoop it up with his fingers and then lick them clean. He elected to use the latter technique, though choosing the former option absolutely crossed his mind.

It was awkward enough, at first, to be sliding his fingers across Luke’s smooth, soft skin, then sucking on those fingers. But he got a funny feeling when he thought of what he was doing in _reverse_ : putting his fingers in his mouth, getting them wet with saliva, then rubbing them across Luke’s nipples, tracing his fingers over that exquisitely sensitive flesh to sweep up the tangy sauces. His gaze flicked to Luke’s face once more, and this time, he just barely caught Luke looking away. Luke had been watching him sucking on his fingers! For some reason, Han was nearly as indignant about this as he was about being watched by every stranger in the place for the last half-hour.

There was only one bit of sauce remaining, and it was pooled in Luke’s belly button. To demonstrate his vexation, Han pressed his finger firmly into the sensitive little dip, causing Luke to cry out with the sharp pleasure, the only noise he’d uttered since Han had taken his first bite. It recaptured the attention of the distracted restaurant patrons, who watched, rapt once more, as Han shoved his fingers in his mouth and sucked the sauce from them, staring right at Luke’s face as he did so, daring Luke to look back at him.

The crowd burst into applause, congratulating Han on his completion of the ∆ ∙ ≈ └ ∆ ≈ ○, and the waiter promptly brought a hot, steaming towel for Luke.

Luke slowly sat up, stiff from having to lie so still for so long, and accepted the towel, rubbing it over his chest, belly, and flanks to rid himself of the worst of the stickiness. He dressed himself nonchalantly under the eyes of those who had not yet gotten their fill of the sight of his naked body – which included Han. Han was thinking about what might have happened, what he would have to have done, if by pure accident he’d lifted up one of the medallions and allowed some of its sauce to spill onto Luke’s cock. It also occurred to him that he could have, as a courtesy to his hungry companion, hand-fed one of those luscious medallions to Luke. To watch Luke eat one would have been–

 “Oh, for the love of …” Han scrubbed his hand down his face. “I’m sorry, I’m an idiot. You haven’t eaten yet!” He clapped his hands over Luke’s shoulders. “Listen, kid, as soon as I get the bill, I’m gonna pay it, then we’re gonna high-tail it out of here and find someplace just as nice and get you a meal. I’m so sorry.”

Luke gazed down at the table. “Actually,” he shrugged, sitting back down, “that ∆ ∙ ≈ └ ∆ ≈ ○ looked really good. I might order it, what do you think?”


End file.
